


Proxy

by SweetAndSharp



Series: Immortals Nonsense [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Longing, M/M, More Ninja Shit, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 21:37:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9347366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetAndSharp/pseuds/SweetAndSharp
Summary: Sometimes there are needs that can't be met with anything but a lie.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ... Soooo...this is a thing I've had in my folder for a long while, and I decided to tart it up and throw it to the wolves. Unbeta'd. It's in much the same vein as the former in the series, so if that wasn't your cup of tea, this probably won't be either. Just trying to get my groove back with more sad porn.

“Close your eyes.”

He didn't. Not right away. Instead, he watched Morgana tightening the bands to the strap-on. They were very black against her skin. The dildo was purple. Sparkly. He wished it was red.

The dildo waggled as she shifted in search of the most comfortable fit for the harness. He spent an idle moment wanting to laugh at it. But, he didn't know how to laugh at sex. That's what normal people did, didn't they? They laughed in the mess of gentle caresses, smiles and kisses. They laughed when lube made them slip and stumble, when someone farted, when curious pets got tangled into the mix. They laughed because sex was fun and funny.

Supposedly.

Merlin had no personal experience from which to speak. Only something rough and famished that reared for feeding now and again. But in the world, he saw people share laughter, kisses, touches, as well as all the other physical intimacies.

He'd never kissed Morgana. He never felt the impulse to. He didn't think she felt any urge to kiss him, either. They weren't like that. There had never been a single aborted embrace or lingering, longing look between them. This wasn't about romance or even loneliness. Skin hunger could be sated anywhere they wanted. When appearing in the guise of their young bodies, they weren't hard on the eyes.

She knew he was watching. It was a part of the ritual. The way she remained facing him, instead of turning away to make adjustments. She didn't look at him, but he knew she was well aware his eyes were still on her as she twisted her hair back. It has been too many centuries. They know each other too well. It would be hard not to, as they seem to be on a short-list of Earthlings who have felt death was optional. It's a small planet, really, and as centuries got on, you learned to get along with those you shared the space with. Merlin wasn't sure if they had made peace, or if all their enmity has paused until such time as there was something worth combating over.

Still, over the long years they've developed a relationship. It was one of the reasons he could come to her for this. Because he knew her. Her rage had dried up. Her death-penance in Avalon healed her of the worst of her madness, though she won't ever be what she was that first year Merlin knew her in Camelot. She wasn't really healed, despite walking the world.

Then again, immortality wasn't really about healing. If anything, the purpose of immortality seems to be the utter destruction of the undying. Nature, robbed of a corpse to ruin, savaged at the mind instead.

Sometimes Merlin pretended he was mad to account for himself being here. He wasn't totally sane, no more than Morgana, but, to be fair, no one in their situation was. But, he wasn't crazy. He just knows her and she knows him. She knows he needs and she will give.

She tossed a tube of lubricant onto the bed. A giant bed, with a silver crown canopy and lots of indigo hangings. The lube bounced in satin sheets. Merlin reached for it. He'd already stretched himself before he arrived. It saved time, and helped keep the lines clearer. Still, he picked up the lube and looked at her.

She climbed onto the bed. “You didn't use enough last time,”

She grabbed his ankles and tugged them apart. Wide. The movement made him slump lower into the mass of pillows piled against the padded headboard.

Merlin huffed. He'd have moved if asked.

She poked the base of the plug. It was red. Merlin felt it prod gently inside and squirmed.

She shot him a look. He knew she didn't like the color in her bed. He just stared back. He wasn't going to defend his choices again. His toys were all a very particular red. Morgana was going to have to adjust to it.

She pulled the plug out roughly, jerking a harsh sound out of Merlin. She hurled it across the room.

“Close your eyes.” Morgana said again.

He couldn't. Not yet. She knew that.

He added more lube until he was wet as a woman. Morgana watched with detached attentiveness, crouched on her knees, the fake cock jutting from her groin. It twinkled at Merlin. He wished it were red.

When she deemed him open and wet enough Morgana shifted on the bed. They performed the intimate dance of slotting limbs together, of making two bodies fit, despite relative emotional distance. There was a pattern to it, in small ways. Merlin lay back and propped himself open. Morgana gripped his hips.

The phallus poked him. It had a peculiar unnatural yield of something lifeless given locomotion by other means. A few more prods and Morgana found his hole and pushed in. One long motion that had Merlin pressing his fingers into the mattress.

She was never particularly violent about it, but then, nor was she gentle.

The pace she set was familiar. Measured. She worked him open with practiced motions of the hips. Her breasts would sway, except she was still wearing the black lace bra she'd had on under her dress. Merlin didn't mind. Her breasts don't hold any particular appeal for him.

Despite his stretching, there was a faint burn to her pressing in and the first few passes. Did he like the pain? He must. He never stretched himself enough that it went unnoticed. He never got a bigger plug to wear on his way to her. So, he must. He must have liked the pain of it, and looked up into Morgana's face while she moved over him. Could she see the faint wince of pain he must always give at first penetration? Was what why her mouth quirked? Maybe. The expression was gone now.

The thrusts were long and smooth, really opening him up. A regular rolling rhythm while he laid nearly prone and just took it. Lay back and thought of Albion, and the most tangible thread to her most beloved king currently pumping between his thighs.

His cock was starting to swell. He saw when Morgana noted it. Her smirk was slight. Merlin saw him in it. Just a little. Around the hinge of the jaw. If truth be told, Merlin and Morgana always looked more like siblings, instead of Morgana and –

But the family resemblance is there. In the jaw. In the blue eyes, maybe. Along with stubbornness. Courage. Determination. Streaks of the spoiled brat. The willingness to die for a belief. Sharp words masking fondness. Swordmanship. A soft interior under a rough exterior. Really, the ways in which they were similar were more numerous than those that differed between them. They might not have looked blood, but they were brother and sister in temper.

Cool Artemis, and golden, beautiful Apollo.

The hunger roared deep in Merlin's chest. Each push into his body warmed and riled it. He was hard and yearning.

“Close your eyes.” Morgana said again, but it was soft.

This time he obeyed. He closed his eyes.

The thrusting increased in tempo and fervor. It hurt. He liked it. He could pretend the purple was red, red, red and the red hurt and he liked it.

Merlin knotted his fingers in the blankets. His nails scraped against the fine thread-count. He was gasping now, deep hungry breaths. The invasive pain-tipped pleasure of it somehow made it easier to pretend he wasn't under a sister, but a brother. A brother whose unrelenting cock punched into him, who didn't tire. Merlin could just imagine him, blond and sweating and so very determined to work Merlin over. To prove a warrior's stamina. To outlast him. To make him come apart beneath him. To _win_.

It went on and on, and the longer Merlin rode into that space, his weeping cock untouched, ass claimed, the clearer he could see what he wanted to see above him, inside him, around him. But he didn't touch. He yanked the bed clothes, he wailed, he surged, he needed, but he didn't touch the body he felt hot and poised above him. Didn't touch, but he saw it, oh, so clearly.

It was when he was sure his eyes were open, and he saw golden skin, blond hair and bright blue eyes, and a smirk at his condition, that was when he began his chant. There was only one word, above all the others, that was his ultimate entreaty. Only one word, one thing he could think of while he was cleaved open, wet and slick, filled, possessed by a Pendragon, one word that was his plea to a deity.

“ _Arthur! Arthur! Arthur_!”

When he came, it was like flying and falling, like salvation and doom. He shouted that name to the heavens and it didn't matter if his eyes were open or closed, because either way, he saw the same thing; Arthur was here and hale. Arthur was above him, around him, inside him. Arthur wanted him, needed him, claimed him, and everything was so good. The pleasure and joy of it never failed to knock Merlin aside, send him reeling from his own body, into some strange space of stillness.

Merlin could live lifetimes in those few minutes of his blackout, when his body has released and his mind is swamped with chemicals, whole lifetimes where he and Arthur are together, fighting or farming or anything, really. Just together.

Morgana was wiping him down with a hot cloth when Merlin roused. She looked stern and perfunctory, and not at all what he wanted to wake to. His throat clutched, and he choked back a sound of despair to find no tow-headed king waiting. She handed the clothe over to him wordlessly and began to fumble with the harness.

Merlin rubbed at himself without much concern or care, and made himself watch. The sparkly dong which had so thoroughly defiled him waggled when the tension released.

He wished it were red.


End file.
